


By Sarn Gebir

by TAFKAB



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), First Kiss, Fluff, Fourth through sixth wheels too, Friends to Lovers, Interspecies, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Voyeurism, Third Wheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn sleeps restlessly by habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Sarn Gebir

The rapids of Sarn Gebir wash past, an endless ruffle and mutter of troubled waters, and beside them, the Fellowship rests, weary from their portage.

Aragorn sleeps lightly by habit; a lifetime in the wild spent hunting orcs has left him prone to wakefulness. He rests against a hummock of stone, his blanket drawn around him. He is instantly watchful, his eyes searching the grey and misty land. Some sound has roused him-- small, but out of place. 

He scans the Fellowship in haste to see if all is well. They have grown closer as they journey. Boromir stands alone by the river, keeping watch, but the others have crept together, forming small huddles against the night. First it was Merry and Pippin; that began before they ever reached Rivendell. Then Frodo and Sam slowly crept together, Sam diffident and shy, afraid to step out of his place, Frodo hesitant to ask him to come closer for fear it would be taken as an order. Aragorn and Boromir too have shared blankets, though nothing more. 

The last to draw together were the dwarf and elf, but even they lie close this morning. That is enough to draw Aragorn's eye. When they all fell asleep the previous night, the two were a respectable arm's length apart. He realizes they always lie side by side now, since Lórien. 

Before his eye passes on, he sees motion; it catches him when he would glance away. The two are nose to nose, and that seems strange. Legolas is wakeful, Aragorn thinks. It is he who moved.

It happens again-- the smallest motion, but this time Aragorn sees. The elf lifts his chin; his lips brush Gimli's with all the delicacy and grace of a butterfly's wing.

That was the noise he heard-- the smallest sound, a whimper almost. Low, barely there: stifled in Gimli's throat.

For he is awake. Aragorn can tell that now; his fingers have closed to fists in the elf's blanket, and the knuckles are white with strain, with tension.

They lie absolutely still, eyes locked. Aragorn can see the sculpted, elegant curve of the elf's jaw and the heartbreakingly perfect way the length of his golden hair drapes over his ear. He can see Gimli swallow hard, hear him draw a deep, slow breath.

For a moment he is afraid-- will the dwarf explode into violence as he wakens to find himself kissed? Will he lash out, strike Legolas, shove him away? Or drag him close and wake the others with some helpless and awkward display of passion?

Gimli does neither, and after a long moment Legolas leans in again. Slow, soft, all but unmoving: the merest brush of lip to lip. The elf's long, dark lashes lie along his cheeks; he tilts his head. He tries again, and is not rebuffed. This time his mouth clings. Gimli makes the whisper-soft sound again, helpless to choke himself to silence.

Aragorn feels himself flush with embarrassment. This moment is plainly sacred; it should not be seen, should not be witnessed by those outside that small space of shared breath. He should not see how Gimli's eyes close; he should not see how the dwarf's strong hands tremble and knead the elf's shoulders, bunching the fabric that fetters them, keeping them separate. He should not see Legolas's slender fingers twine their way into Gimli's beard. 

Legolas's ear is flushed delicate rose-pink. The dawn light settles in the mist, glowing around the two as if they are unreal, a vision. Perhaps they are. This cannot be happening, yet it is; Gimli's mouth is opening slowly to let Legolas in. The waters murmur and sigh, hiding the sounds of them as the kiss sinks deep. 

This is the first time for them to touch so; Aragorn can read it as clearly he could the tracks of some shy woodland creature. He understands the small sounds Gimli makes, knows the particular hesitant tremble of the dwarf's fingers as his hands creep around to close the embrace. The certainty sinks into him with the same delicacy the elf first used to brush his lips against the dwarf's.

Aragorn turns his gaze away; his body hardens, and he thinks with longing of Arwen. If ever there was a man who labored long in hope before sharing his beloved's bed, it is he. It takes all his will to resist bitter jealousy. Whatever else they may have to overcome, Legolas and Gimli have one advantage he has not: they are free to love if they like, as soon as they please.

And yet, it is a marvel, and he cannot wholly turn away, stealing another glance and regarding them with wonder. If ever he failed to predict a coupling between his friends, it is this one. If asked in Rivendell, he would have expected to see anything before this-- the balrog in a frock, perhaps, wielding a bouquet of flowers in place of its whip!

....Would that the wizard were here to see. This would please him above all else. Aragorn bows his head as a pang of sorrow fills him.

Their kisses grow shallow, lips clinging and parting slowly, then pressing together again and again with a hunger that is reluctant to fade. Legolas is smiling. Joy shines in him fit to rival the dawn. Gimli's eyes are wide and dazed, as if he is in a dream and fears the waking.

Then the dwarf's fingers slide down to caress the shell of the elf's ear and Legolas draws breath sharply, his eyes sparkling with desire, the hiss so loud Boromir stirs and yawns, rubbing his eyes.

The two part swiftly, this marvelous thing between them still young enough to shy from prying eyes. Aragorn takes his chance to rouse, laying wood upon the fire. Legolas rises gracefully to fetch water, and after a few moments Gimli sits up as well and begins to roll his blanket. Then Sam is up, bringing with him a muted clatter of pans, and the morning routine of food and packing begins.

When they are ready to set forth a devil of mischief compels Aragorn to speak thus to Legolas: "If you have found the river journey tiresome, we might trade passengers--" but both dwarf and elf decline in flustered haste. Then Legolas offers Gimli his hand and squires him into the boat with a tenderness Aragorn does not miss. The clasp of their palms lingers far too long before Legolas takes his seat in the stern.

The two of them lag behind as they pass the Argonath, but Aragorn will not chide them. 

He only smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> The UST in my big fic is just too much. I had to write my OTP some kisses, or we were all going to explode!


End file.
